Weird, isn't it Somehow in the dead of winter when its 40 below, so cold your words just freeze in the air, you think you'll never hear a robin's song again or see a blossom on a cherry tree, when one day you wake up and bingo, light coming through the mini blinds is softened with a tick of rose and the cold morning air has lost its bite. It's spring once again, the streets are paved with mud and the hills are alive with the sound of mosquitos.
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One of the joys our technological civilization has lost is the excitement with which seasonal flowers and fruits were welcomed; the first daffodil, strawberry or cherry are now things of the past, along with their precious moment of arrival. Even the tangerine -- now a satsuma or clementine -- appears de-pipped months before Christmas.
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It may just be because I get homesick, but I have concluded Washington's cherry blossoms are just plain overrated.
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I've told our guys (at George Mason) that I have a lot of loyalty to you. I'm going to give everything I've got to them.
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My heart that was rapt away by the wild cherry blossoms -- will it return to my body when they scatter?
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